The Vampire's First Assistant
by Enelya Telrunya
Summary: This is a rewrite of G'night Booksie.  What if Mr Crepsley had another assistant before Darren? What if she became a vampire willingly? What if she found herself developing a crush on Mr Crepsley? This is the tale of Monica Mastrelli.  Rating may change
1. Chapter 1

I sighed, struggling to keep my eyes open as I stared at the clock, just behind Miss Rieder's head as she continued to babble on about whatever we were learning about in maths that lesson. I couldn't remember much of it, just the part where she had said it'd be crucial for us to know this for an upcoming exam. I guess importance of education doesn't matter when you get three hours of sleep.

I glanced towards Frasier who pulled a bored face before glancing back down at her work. Frasier was my best friend, the best best friend I'd ever had, in fact. She'd been given a boy's name because when her mum was pregnant with her, the ultrasound technician told her she was having a boy, so the name was chosen and painted on the Nursery wall in their house and embroidered onto ridiculous amounts of clothing. Sometime later, a healthy baby girl popped out.

I snorted at her expression before looking back to the clock. Three. Two. One. The bell rang obnoxiously, but to all of the students in the humid, overpopulated class room, it was a blessing. I sighed in relief, almost leaping up from my seat and shoving all of my things into my messenger bag that had seen better days.

"Wait for me, idiot!" Frasier called behind me with a laugh.

"Thank God it's Friday," I sighed as we left the room "We get a sunny day in winter and I'm stuck in the world's smallest, warmest classroom."

"Well, it _is_ only three. We could go on a wander around the town?" she suggested.

"Alas, diddums, I appear to be stuck in the art department for the next few hours to try and finish this stupid project," I said, using the mock-pet name we had for each other.

"Ah, I would keep you company but all the teachers in there hate me and I don't really feel like getting glared at for however you plan on lurking around there."

"Nah, s'fine, dude, Bianca'll be there anyway," I shrugged "and at least the rooms in there have air conditioning."

"Have fun then, dearest," she snorted "I'm off to mope around at home."

"Don't let me stop you, then," I grinned as we parted ways.

Three hours. That's how long I was in the art department before the cleaners urged me to leave. It wasn't out of some special eagerness to do well, it was because I knew that I wasn't putting enough effort in as it was and considering my terrible attendance, unless I stayed after school, I had no chance of passing the exam.

"You're going to have to leave school soon, love, it's dark and nobody's in the office to phone for a taxi for you," said one of the cleaners.

Our school always had an obsession of sorts with safety and they hated letting anybody but the sixth formers out at night without knowing they had a safe lift back home. It was understandable, but a bit annoying. It was only six, after all.

I gave a small nod and a sigh, grabbing hold of my A3 sketch pad with everything I'd need inside of it.

"How are you getting home?" the cleaner called after me.

"The metro, I'll be fine, thanks!" I called behind me, clutching the sketch pad in front of me to avoid letting anything fall from it, struggling to pull on my knee-length leather jacket as I walked.

By the time I had it buttoned up, I was at the metro station, which was only a short walking distance from the school. Once I'd gotten down the many stairs leading to the tunnel, the breeze managed to run through my coat, causing me to shiver and lose my grip on the sketch pad. It dropped open in the middle where I'd placed all of my loose papers, causing them all to blow out around the station.

"Shit!" I cursed loudly, my voice echoing around the empty tunnels, as I was the only one there as far as I knew.

I managed to grab most of the papers as I let out a relieved sigh and stood up with the sketch pad now in my arms. But as a caught sight of my main project that I'd spent half the year on blowing precariously close to the rails, I felt my face pale. This couldn't happen. I quickly dropped my bag onto my sketch pad, keeping it and all of the papers inside of it weighed down and I made a mad dash towards the paper, just as the wind in the tunnel picked up faintly, blowing it onto the rails.

"No! No! Not now! No!" I cried, running towards it and trying to reach down as I could hear the metro drawing nearer...and nearer, just as I began to lose my balance.

I felt a hand grab the back of my jacket and yank me up onto the platform as well as my drawing, all in one sweep, milliseconds before the metro shot by, centimetres from the tip of my nose. I let out a shaky breath and scrambled backwards, staring at the metro, wide eyed.

I turned around to face whoever had saved me and when I did, I wondered how I hadn't noticed his presence in the first place.

He had hair that was such a bright shade of orange, it almost looked like the colour was artificial. He was dressed from head to toe in red – a red suit and even a cloak, much to my surprise. Finally, and most bizarrely, he had an obvious scar running all the way down the left side of his face and I couldn't help but do a double take – something I hoped he wouldn't take offence to.

Despite how abnormal his appearance was, I couldn't help but find him attractive, even in these circumstances.

He, unlike myself, didn't appear to be out of breath in the slightest, even though he would've had to have moved incredibly fast to pull me back **and **save my project, which he now grasped in his right hand, along with other papers that I didn't recognise.

He was staring at me with greenish-blue eyes, with a gaze that was both incredulous and curious and I felt myself blush under it.

"What were you..." he trailed off and shook his head "are you alright?"

His voice was quite deep and had a rich quality to it, but not strangely so – he didn't exactly sound like Alan Rickman. I found myself beginning to like it. I frowned inwardly at myself. I'd nearly just died and all I could think about was how attractive I found my saviour.

"Y-yeah, thanks," I forced out, taking his other hand as he offered it to help me up I noticed scars on his fingertips, too.

How on earth had he managed that? Once I was up, I let go of his hand.

"Why is this so important that you risked your life to retrieve it?" he asked, staring at the paper whilst I shakily walked over to where my bag was, pulling it over my head and onto my shoulder and I picked up the sketch pad from under it.

"I've been working on it for the best part of a year, I have to hand it in next week to be evaluated. I'd have no chance of doing it again," I explained briefly.

He scanned over the piece of paper again before giving a small, almost approving nod and handing it back to me.

"And now I missed the metro," I murmured, more to myself and then I felt a small pang of guilt as I regarded the orange haired man "And you yours."

He gave a small shake of his head.

"I am not here to travel, and you were in no state to. I doubt you are now."

"...Why are you here then?"

"To hand out these," he handed me a green flyer with the words **"CIRQUE DU FREAK**" printed on it in large bold letters.

I scanned over it briefly, it looked cool.

"Can I keep this?" I asked, gesturing to it.

He seemed reluctant at first but then gave a small nod and then it fell silent until fifteen minutes later when the next metro finally arrived, nearly empty. I stood up from where I'd seated myself on the floor and with one foot in the carriage, I bit my lip before speaking.

"...What's your name?"

He seemed surprised for a moment and then it appeared as though he was considering my question before he spoke once more.

"Larten Crepsley, and yours?"

"Monica Mastrelli. Thanks for saving my life, I owe you one."

Amusement flicked through his eyes as they stared into mine, causing my face to go a light shade of pink before I stepped properly into the metro and the doors slid shut. The last I saw of him that evening was when he gave a small sort of parting nod before the metro gathered speed and shot off through the tunnels I'd nearly lost my life in.

Taking a seat next to the doors, I couldn't help but hope that I hadn't seen the last of Larten Crepsley.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews of the last chapter, I'm really grateful that there're still people interested in this. Sorry if I didn't reply to your review, I've been at my mum's and the internet there doesn't let me come on here for some reason. **

"_You got hit by a metro_?" Frasier exclaimed the next morning over the phone.

"No, you idiot, then I wouldn't be alive," I laughed "I _nearly _got hit by a metro."

"...Dude, I know you have your clumsy moments, but how the hell...?" she asked exasperatedly.

"My art project blew onto the rails. The metro was coming and I was leaning over the ledge to try and get the project. I nearly fell over, onto the rails."

"...You are an idiot."

"Lovely thing to say to somebody who could be dead right now."

"Could be dead because she was an idiot."

"Fair enough," I sighed, leaning back in bed.

"So did you save the project? Guessing by the lack of tears, I think you did."

"I didn't, actually," I stated "Somebody else did."

"Oh? Who?"

"This guy. He pulled me back _and _grabbed the drawing, literally two seconds before the metro arrived."

"Skill," she murmured "This guy? What was he like?"

"Oh, you know me so well," I grinned "...He was rather attractive. Rather being an understatement, actually."

"Oh?" she sounded interested "What did he look like? Did you get his number?"

"He erm...Well, he was _different_. He had orange hair. I don't mean ginger, I mean literally orange, he had a red cloak and this massive scar running down the side of his face."

"Scar? What, like a little scar or a big "fuck off" scar?" she asked.

I couldn't help but laugh at her wording.

"The second on, definitely. But that's not the interesting thing so let's forget our teenage hormones for a minute, dearest," I joked "He was handing out these flyers for the Cirque Du Freak, you heard of it?"

"I haven't, it's like a freak show, then, yeah?"

"Yeah, it actually looks really, really interesting, which is actually why I called. Want to go to it? It's on Wednesday night."

"What kind of show happens on a school night?"

"The kind where the advertisements are handed out in the evening, when most people our age are either getting drunk at the park or lurking around at home."

"I like your point. How much are tickets?"

"Fifteen quid each."

"Jesus, not like...a fiver?" she sighed.

"No, but it really looks worth it and I don't want to go alone...I'll even pay for like half of your ticket," I offered.

"No need, I have money lying around somewhere. Just go buy the tickets today and I'll pay you tomorrow," she said, I could practically hear her shrug.

"Awesome," I smiled.

"Yeah, that guy, did you get his name, also?" she asked.

"Yeah, it was weird though, definitely not something like Dave," I laughed "It's on the poster, two seconds."

I quickly found the folded poster inside my bedside cabinet and scanned over it, finding the name.

"Larten Crepsley."

"What, is that a stage name?" she asked.

"Probably," I shrugged "Anyways, I'm gonna go, but I'll get ready and buy the tickets in a couple of hours, yeah?"

"Awesome, text me when you do."

"Will do, bye," I muttered, hanging up and tossing the phone to the bottom of my bed with a sigh.

Monday morning came quicker than I would've like for it to. It wasn't the school itself that I hated, no. I didn't mind the work or the lessons – in fact, I enjoyed most of it. It was the people I shared the school with.

I didn't know why they hated me or why they even made fun of me. I wasn't exactly hideous. I wasn't pretty either, but not hideous. I wasn't fatter or thinner than any of them either.

I was of average weight and just a little bit shorter than average, but it wasn't very noticeable and the growing pains in my legs hinted that I'd take a stretch soon. I had dark brown hair that reached just below my shoulders and a fringe that was often kept off of my left eye by my black rimmed glasses which framed my rather unremarkable green-ish brown eyes.

I never really saw their problem with me, but what I did see was the glares, the whispers and I heard the giggling that ensued. I also felt the shoves and the quick tugs on my hair that I always just ignored – it was easier than starting trouble and I told myself that if I just kept ignoring them, they would eventually go away.

I sighed as I ran a hand through my hair and applied chapstick once again before walking through the glass double-doors leading to the dining hall where everybody sat before lessons began.

"Get the tickets?" Frasier questioned from her seat on top of one of the dining tables at the far left corner of the room.

I nodded and pointed to the front pocket of my bag, taking a seat between the other two of our little group of misfits, Bianca and Allie.

"Tickets? What band?" Allie asked curiously with a slight frown.

"No, it's just this, ah, circus thing," I shrugged.

"Like clowns and stuff?" Bianca asked with a shudder as she scrawled down answers to Biology homework that was probably due first lesson.

"I'm not actually sure," I admitted "I got it from this guy in the Subway."

"Well that sounds reliable," she laughed "Don't s'pose you know much about crude oil?"

And the subject was dropped. First lesson was German, which was horrible. It wasn't the work, as I'd said earlier. I found the language quite easy and I didn't really mind learning it, but the only person in the lesson I could stand was Allie, I either didn't know the rest of them, or they enjoyed making my life a personal hell, and in a few cases, both, and that personal hell often started the second I sat down in my seat.

I kicked my bag underneath the table, dropping my books onto the desk and as I went to seat down, the boy I sat next to (who I found disgusting in both personality and appearance) pulled my chair away, leaving nothing for me to fall onto but the floor.

I winced as laughter erupted around the classroom and I leant on the desk to pull myself back up and this time, into my seat. I ignored the laughter with a sigh as I felt my cheeks heat up and caught Allie's sympathetic frown and replied to it with a small, fake smile as I opened the text book and the teacher walked in just as I began counting down the minutes that the lesson would end.

It felt like centuries later when it finally did, but art wasn't much better. In fact, despite it being my favourite lesson, it was even worse. It started out like any other lesson, scraps of paper getting thrown at me and people giggling, but I could handle that – I found it pathetic and I could easily shrug it off, but it wasn't until I left the lesson that I realised what they had done.

I sat on the grass of the school field for break with Allie, Bianca and Frasier, glad that for once it was a nice day.

"What've you got next?" Frazier asked, browsing through her planner.

"No idea," I shrugged "my planner's in my bag."

She nodded and pulled my bag towards her, opening it and then all went silent.

"...Uh...Monica?"

"...Yeah?"

"...I think your stationary got angry."

I sighed, looking up from the grass.

"...Angry?"

With a wince she turned her bag towards me and to my horror, green paint dripped out. All of my stuff was ruined – the only exception being my sketch pad that I didn't keep in my bag since it wouldn't fit.

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?" I groaned, pulling out my now green pencil case a long with my planner, the book I had been reading and a lot of revision notes.

"Holy..." I heard Allie murmur, moving to sit beside me and see the mess that had once been my school bag.

With a string of curses I stood up, kicking the bag and I stormed off, glaring at the ground in front of my feet. An hour and a half later I was sitting in the head of year's office, glaring at his desk.

"Do you have any idea how the paint got in your bag?"

I shook my head, not taking my glare off of the desk.

"Could you have done it?" he asked unsurely.

"Why would I destroy my own bag? It cost me twenty pounds!"

He nodded slowly.

"Well...since we have no idea who could've done it, there's really not much we can do for you, Monica. Mrs Howell has managed to salvage your equipment and clean up your bag a bit but you'll probably need to buy a new one..."

"I haven't got enough money."

He sighed at that and spoke again.

"Well we could help you with the expenses but until we find out who did it, that's really all we can do...Just go to the library and revise until lunch – that's about twenty minutes, then resume your lessons," he finished, gesturing to the now green-tinged bag lying in the corner of the room.

I sighed but nodded, leaving the room with a ruined bag and an even more ruined mood.

I didn't actually do any revision in the library, and I highly doubted I was actually expected to, too. Instead I found a book on vampires that didn't really capture my interest, but it made it look like I was at least a little bit busy. So I flicked through the pages, looking at the pictures disinterestedly and dreading the time when I would have to go to the lunch hall and be laughed at by whoever had dumped the paint in my bag.

But unfortunately, I always found that the more the dreaded something, the quicker it approached and soon I heard the bell give three sharp rings, signalling lunch for my year group.

I trudged towards my usual table, surprised to see the three of my friends already there when I sat down, shoving my bag onto the chair next to me after pulling my, thankfully un-spoiled, lunch out of it. I explained what had happened to them in a monotone, fed up of the day and wishing that it would just end.

Once I finished, I unwrapped my sandwich, surveying their looks of disbelief.

"So that's it then, they're going to do nothing?"

"Pretty much," I sighed, going to take a bite of my lunch when I heard a scathing voice from behind me.

"Do you really think you should be eating that?" I heard a girl from my art class snort as she walked past me.

I sighed, dropping the sandwich back into the packaging and pushing it away from me as I looked at my stomach, which I had always considered to be quite flat.

"Dude, are you really going to listen to her?" Bianca frowned "You're thinner than me!"

I shook my head wordlessly and sighed but shooting Allie a thankful look as she patted me on the shoulder whilst glaring at the girl. This day was just getting better and better.

I stayed late after school again that day – I didn't even have that much art work to do, and as much as I wanted to rush home, the feeling of apprehension of standing around on the platform with all of _them, _conquered my wanting for home.

It got to about seven o'clock again when the cleaners ushered me out of the school and I welcomed the sight of the empty platform when I reached it.

With a sigh, I dumped my bag next to me and slid down to sit on the floor, not really caring about the dirty floor, blinking back tears that threatened to spill now that I was alone. I checked the metro-schedule, mine was due in twenty minutes.

I sighed, resting my head on my knees. Nobody was ever here at this time, which was strangely comforting and I didn't bother to wipe away my tears once they began and when they began, they were almost uncontrollable. It wasn't until I heard a cough that I froze, mid sob and cringed. Pulling my sleeve over my hand and wiping underneath my eyes, I looked up in the curious and strangely pitying eyes of the man who had saved me three nights ago. Larten Crepsley.

**A/N: There you have it. I know it's a boring chapter, but it had to be done, just so you know a bit about Monica. And if you think that stuff like this doesn't happen at schools, it really does, I've seen stuff like it happen and been the victim of it. Thankfully not the paint, though. Anyways, reading the original of this, I realised how much I skirted around kissing/sex scenes so I wrote my first ever R-Rated scene for this yesterday and I was wondering if anybody would be interested in reading it for me to tell me if it's good or bad? Just before I publish it like...15/20 chapters from now xD **

**Anyways, yeah, thanks, guys. **


	3. Chapter 3

Larten Crepsley, when he was younger, had always been a hit with the ladies and quite often still was, although he was less interested now than he had been in previous years. But even though he had a stern demeanour, he was still a sucker for a damsel in distress, which was why he couldn't help but pity the slightly familiar dark haired girl, sitting on the filthy floor, sobbing quietly.

Unsure of how to approach her, he decided not to – it was never a good thing to surprise an upset woman. So instead he coughed, giving away his presence. He could see how she tensed and was silent almost immediately. She slowly wiped her eyes before looking towards him and he realised how she seemed familiar.

It was the girl who had nearly fallen onto the rails...what was her name again? He racked his brain for an answer but found nothing. Knowing it was a foolish question, but wanting to say _something_, he spoke.

"...Are you alright?"

She directed her gaze towards her shoes as she sniffed and gave a small nod and it fell silent, not a comfortable silence, but an awkward one as Larten began to regret making his presence known and he was ridiculously thankful when she finally spoke in weak tones.

"Why do you hand out the flyers here? Why not some place busy?"

"The Cirque Du Freak always draws in a crowd, no matter how little or poorly we advertise," he explained briefly, even though he himself had to wonder why he'd been sent there of all places, normally he was somewhere at least a little bit busier.

"I bought tickets," the girl stated, standing now and leaning against the wall, gesturing to her bag on the floor which made Larten do a double take.

Last time he saw her, he hadn't exactly studied her bag, but he would have remembered if it had been in such a state. It looked damp, dirty and even slightly green.

"What happened to..." he trailed off, not sure whether it was wise to ask in case that was what had upset her, and indeed it was.

He face fell, the slight composure she had gained fading a bit.

"Oh, uh, somebody dumped paint in it," she murmured resentfully.

Larten couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at that as he recalled that although it had been many, many years since he had lived among humans as one, he still remembered that they were often cruel, dishonourable creatures and he found he had nothing else to say.

It fell silent, but only for a minute before the metro arrived so I pulled my sorry excuse for a bag over my shoulder.

"See you," I murmured to him as I stepped onto the metro, wanting nothing more than to shower and go to bed as I slumped down into the torn seat.

It was only two stops later and a short, brisk walk until I arrived at my mum's flat, finding the door leading into the small kitchen unlocked I walked in, happy as warmth and the smell of food met my nose.

I made my way out of the kitchen and straight across the small corridor, into the living room and poked my head around the door. My family had never been a conventional one and we'd never had a conventional relationship.

My parents had divorced four and a half years ago when I was eleven, leaving me unsurprised. Since then my mum had gotten a boyfriend, Mick. It wasn't that we didn't like each other, no, he was a pretty nice guy, it was that we didn't understand each other. All of his previous girlfriends, if they had kids, either had sons who were sports fanatics who he could watch football with or daughters obsessed with making their hair perfect and the latest boy bands, who he could simply buy the latest chick flick or best selling CD and they'd be happy and if those girlfriends had both, well he could win them over with his sense of humour.

So when he met me, the girl who sat around in her room, burning incense, listening to music by people he'd never heard of and painting with supplies he knew nothing about and who had a rather bizarre sense of humour, he had no idea how to "bond" with me. So he didn't. I didn't mind, I didn't have the slightest clue what to talk about with him, either, so we were on good terms, but we were never close and I doubted we ever would be. As long as he didn't try to discipline me and as long as he made no snide comments, I had no issues with him, and he was a nice guy, so he never did.

My relationship with my mum was strained at best. My dad had been the main one to raise me, giving me most of his personality traits and my mum and dad were such opposites I often wondered why they'd ever even married. My mum wanted to go to parties with friends and when she'd gotten pregnant with a girl, I was sure she'd been happy – she'd have a best friend like she'd been with her mum. She could discuss fashion with me and take me along to family parties where I'd flirt with family friends and dance whilst she'd socialize with her friends (who I personally couldn't stand).

So when I got to around ten and started refusing to go to said parties out of both dislike for her side of the family, her friends and parties in general, she'd been disappointed to say the least, and probably even more so when I had started refusing to let her choose my clothes and I retreated to the darker side of the colour spectrum and if I did ever wear skirts, they' be gypsy skirts. The divorce had made our relationship even worse since I couldn't help but blame her so we'd constantly argue over stupid little things, like me wanting to be at my dad's for my birthday.

There were two people in my family I was close to, those two people being my dad and my brother who was older than me by eight years at the age of twenty three.

People often told me I was like a young, female version of my dad when it came to my personality. I was introverted but with a sarcastic sense of humour and I'd rather spend a night at home reading or watching a film than going out with my friends – it was the same with my brother, except he had gotten my mum's need for socialization. I didn't mind though, he was funny when he was drunk and when he stumbled through the door to my dad's house at three in the morning, it was funny to hear him babble nonsense. I never let him know what was going on at school, though. If I did he'd demand to know everything and then make things worse by either getting arrested for hurting one of them, or making me more of a victim by threatening them.

The one down side about being at dad's was money. He had none. I'd offered to sell my guitar that I never played that could bring in quite a lot of money, but he always refused, I even offered to go to town and try and sell some paintings but he'd always tell me not to worry about it, even as he ate at work to save money rather than buying food for himself.

"You stayed late again?" mum frowned as I crossed the room, shrugging off my jacket.

"Uh, yeah," I mumbled, hanging the jacket up on the coat rack in the corner of the room.

"I need a new bag," I sighed eventually, putting mine on the table in front of her and Mick.

"Jesus Christ, kid, what did you do to it?" Mick exclaimed.

"I didn't do anything," I sighed "Somebody poured paint in it during art."

"And what are the school doing?" mum frowned "We can't afford a new bag!"

"Paying for a new bag. They can't do anything unless they know who it is," I shrugged, picking up the bag again.

"Well do you know who it could be?" mum sighed, as if I had made this happen.

"I have a few ideas."

"Well deck the kid in the face!" Mick said exasperatedly.

"Yeah, 'cause that'd go well," I snorted humourlessly, retreating to my bedroom.

I sighed, comforted by the room as I turned on my bedside lamp, bathing the room in a dim orange glow. I slipped on "_Fellowship of the Ring_" just for some background noise as I shrugged off the blue navy jumper, white polo shirt and black trousers that I had to wear for school before pulling on some pyjama bottoms that drowned me, a black tank top and tied my hair up into a messy bun before I sank down into my bed with a relieved sigh, already dreading the next day.

It wasn't that I cared about what they thought of me, it was just how constant they were. Every single day it'd be snide comments, giggles, getting stuff thrown at me but it'd never been as bad as this and it was really wearing me down, I mean, the pressure of high school was bad enough but with this added?

"Come in," I called as a knock at my door distracted me from my thoughts.

My mum walked in with a plate of lasagne in her hands.

"I made your favourite, I had to re-heat it since you were home late, but you seem a bit down..."

"I'm fine, thanks mum," I gave her a small smile accepting the plate from her as she placed a comforting hand on my shoulder and left the room.

I was happy to finally have food – the only food I'd had all day was a toaster waffle for breakfast since I'd skipped lunch and if there was one thing I adored about my mum, it was her cooking. She'd been born in my hometown but she'd lived in Italy from when she was fourteen until she was twenty when she met my dad, who born and raised in Italy. In her six years there, she'd fell in love with the cooking and my dad had often joked that he had only married her for the food.

I had eaten about five bites of the lasagne before I remembered why I hadn't eaten lunch that day, as the girl's voice rang in my head "Do you really think you should be eating that?"

I sighed, taking another small bite of the food before discovering it suddenly didn't taste as nice as it had at first. Great. I was nowhere near overweight and I knew it, but there was nothing like somebody implying that you were to ruin your appetite. I put the plate on the floor and brought my knees up to my chin before deciding to actually watch the film on the TV, hoping for some kind of mental escape, if only for a few hours.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but I'm basically writing this as part of JulNoWriMo (I'm half way through writing chapter 6 right, now, like two of these chapters have literally been written over the course of a day, which is bizarre but great for me, I blame energy drinks) and the response I've been getting has made me delighted to say the least, but I was thinking rather than throwing new chapters at you every day/when I've finished them, I might just start posting new chapters every Wednesday and Friday. What do you guys think? **

I didn't go to school the next day. I wasn't ill, I just didn't want to face it, which was often the case and was why my attendance was terrible, so I plastered a queasy expression onto my face, messed up my hair even more and meandered into my mum's room, feeding her a story of how I had a terrible stomach ache and by 12pm, Mick was giving me a ride to my dad's – I spent my time going between houses, which was a hassle, but it kept the peace.

When he pulled up in front of the two-story terraced house I climbed out the passenger's seat, wordlessly as I often did, pulling my backpack with me before practically sprinting to the house. The door was open, meaning Beppe must've been home because my dad would've been working.

My brother's name wasn't actually Beppe, it was Giuseppe – he'd been named after my dad's dad, but it was just easier to shorten it. Beppe looked a lot more like my dad than I did, with darker skin and brown eyes – people often refused to believe we were siblings for the only thing making us look alike was the fact that we had the same hair colour and similar noses, but people don't tend to inspect your nose upon meeting you.

"Beppe?" I called, shutting the door behind me.

I got no answer so I made my way up the stairs and to his bedroom, dumping my bag in the hallway outside his room before walking in, finding my brother in an unconscious heap on his bed.

"Beppe! Wake up!" I snorted, poking his shoulder.

"Mmm, go to school," he groaned into his pillow.

"I would, but I'm deathly ill," I drawled sarcastically "And it's not my fault that you were up all night charming easy girls."

"_But it's so much fun, the way they swoon over the accent_," he said, putting on a fake, but very convincing Italian accent.

My brother had learned from a young age that with his dark looks, if he pretended he knew more than five words in Italian (all of which were curse words we'd learnt from our relatives in Italy) and put on an accent, he could get almost any girl he wanted, and he always used it to his advantage. I usually found it funny, especially when said girls were still around when I woke up the next morning and I'd either play along and put on a horribly fake Italian accent or ruin his fun completely by talking normally and asking him why he wasn't.

I snorted "What, and the nicknames you use when you forget their real names? _La mia stella! Amore mio!" _

"Why are you waking me up?" he laughed, opening one eye.

"I need a favour."

"Of course you do."

"Oh, come on, Beppe!"

"What is it, if it will let me sleep?" he asked.

"I'm sneaking out tomorrow night for a few hours, I need your help."

"Where are you going?"

"Out with Frasier, I won't be long and I'll be safe."

"Fine. Now out. I'm tired."

The next two school days were no better. It always ended the same for me, I'd get home either in a foul mood or in tears. Not out of hurt, out of frustration and just generally, being fed up of being fed up. Lately it was usually tears, though. They had totally defeated me and ground me down. I hated it.

I sighed, shaking the matter out of my thoughts as I pulled on a pair of black ripped jeans and a dark purple tank top along with some trainers, a hoodie and a beanie.

I grabbed the tickets from my bed-side table, shoving them into my pocket before going to make sure Beppe was going to keep his promise.

"Dad! We're going to the cinema!" Beppe called from the hallway.

"It's ten o'clock at night!"

"It was the only time we could get tickets," I lied "They stop showing it after tonight, please, can we go?"

My dad was never one to say no to his kids, something which made me feel bad about lying to him, but if I told him "I'm going to a freak show, I got tickets from a man with a huge scar on his face, he was handing them out at the metro station when it got dark." This would be one occasion where he would say no.

He sighed but nodded, waving a hand, allowing us to leave.

"You're lucky I'm a good big brother, you know that," Beppe snorted as we climbed into his car, I would be meeting Frasier outside where the show was playing – an old abandoned office building which I couldn't remember ever seeing in use.

"No, I'm lucky you're scared that if you don't do this, I'll tell all of your girlfriends that you don't actually speak Italian _before _you get them into your bed," I shrugged "But thank you."

He snorted, slowly shaking his head as the car pulled up to the offices.

"Why on Earth are you meeting her _here_?" he frowned, surveying the apparently empty building.

I waved a hand dismissively and went to climb out of the car but he locked the door before I could.

"Monica, tell me."

His tone left no room for argument and I sighed.

"There's a freak show. We got tickets and it's going on in there."

"Why in there?" he frowned.

"Scare factor, I'm assuming. Now let me out."

He sighed reluctantly, unlocking the car door.

"Call me when it ends!"

"Will do, thanks, Beppe."

"Any time," he said sarcastically before driving away and I turned to Frasier who had been watching the exchange with amusement.

"Was that _Giuseppe_?" she grinned.

"Yes, it was Beppe, no, you can't flirt with him."

"Why not? I'd let you flirt with my brother!"

"...Your brother is four," I laughed.

She grinned and spoke again.

"I said I'd let you, I didn't say you'd want to. Anyways, let's just go in, I want to see this _Larten Crepsley_," she said, making her way towards the building.

I rolled her eyes, but followed her as she pulled open the old, heavy doors with some difficulty. It was pitch black and silent.

"Maybe it was a scam," I suggested with a frown "That was a waste of £30."

"If it was scam there'd be other people."

"Yeah, but-," I was cut off by a deep voice behind us, causing us both to jump and swear, Frasier in English and I in Italian.

We turned around to see, literally the tallest man I think I'd ever witnessed.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to frighten you," he said in a ridiculously low voice, his black eyes gleaming.

"I am Hibernius Tall, owner of the Cirque Du Freak. Aren't you a little young to be here?"

"We're fifteen," I frowned "We're not exactly kids."

He smiled "Of course, Monica. This way."

I froze as he turned around, staring wide-eyed at Frasier, but soon we snapped back to our senses and began to follow him.

The show was...Well, it was indescribable. It definitely wasn't a scam, or even a rip off, surprisingly. I winced as I received a sharp jab to the ribs when the familiar orange haired man walked on stage.

"Is that him?" Frasier whispered to me.

I nodded as he began to speak.

"...Hrm...Nah. This one's all yours," she shrugged after surveying him slowly, causing me to give a small, quiet laugh as I shook my head at her.

It was only after the show's, quite spectacular, finale that my good mood vanished at the thought of school the next day and then going to my mum's afterwards. I sighed as I leant against the tree outside of the building, waiting for Beppe to show up, wishing I could just stay and ruin away with the Cirque. A childish wish, I know, but anything was better than the hellhole I knew as school. Anything was better than arguing with my mum every other day, awkward conversations with my dad, watching my brother throw his life away doing nothing but drinking and messing around with girls. Anything was better than watch my dad struggle to make ends meet whilst insisting I do nothing to help.

I gritted my teeth. I'd get through this. I just needed to ignore the idiots at school...Yeah, I'd deal with one problem at a time.

"Beppe? Where've you been?" I frowned, climbing into the car as I noticed his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

"Monica...Is it true that Ian's little brother and his friends have been bothering you at school?"

I froze and felt my face pale. Shit. Ian was Beppe's best friend but I didn't count on him finding out and telling my brother. He watched my expression change and then spoke again.

"Why didn't you tell me? Is this why you've been so miserable? I mean, _porca troi, _Monica! I'm your big brother! It's my job to handle shit like this!"

"There really isn't any need to go bi-lingual, Beppe..."

"This isn't funny. I'm sorting this out tonight," he growled, starting up the car and driving home.

Once we pulled up in front of the house, he unlocked the doors but didn't turn off the engine our get out.

"Go to bed, Monica, I need to do some stuff."

"_Giuseppe_, no!"

"Monica, go in the house. Now."

His tone was stern and left no room for argument, and when Beppe used that tone with you, you didn't argue.

I bit my lip and slipped out of the car, I heard him speed off the second I opened the front door and stepped inside. I didn't hear him come in before I fell into a fitful sleep.

For a moment at school the next day I foolishly hoped that Beppe hadn't done anything, I mean, nothing was different. Then, at lunch time, everything went wrong, starting from the second Allie ran up to me.

"Monica!" she breathed "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Uh, sure, Allie," I frowned, standing as we left the other two "What's up?"

"You need to go home. Like, now," she said seriously "Go to the nurse and say you feel sick or something."

"I can't do that, she doesn't send me home any more because of my attendance, why?" I frowned "What's wrong?"

"Chris and his gang are going to jump you after school."

My heart dropped. What the hell had Giuseppe done?

Every city has that one school that everybody is dying to get into – the one with pages and pages of waiting lists. The one with flawless discipline that would kick anybody out who caused trouble, because for every bad kid, there'd be five good kids wanting in. Then they have that one school that's known by all of the other's as "the rough one". The one that people joke about. The one that either had very little discipline or if they did have discipline, it didn't work because nobody cared about detention or getting suspended, or even expelled, but the school would always to be too scared to expel anybody because they needed the students.

Mine? It was the rough one. And at a rough school, you didn't piss off the people who would be more than willing you kick your teeth in.

"It's fine," I breathed, but I could feel my heart thudding in my chest "I'll, uh, I'll just stay late in the art department."

"Mon, you know if you do that they'll either just corner you there or wait. It's not exactly hard for them to sit and get pissed outside the gates while they wait for you."

I ran a shaky hand through my hair...What could I do?

"No, don't get yourself worked up over it, I'll stay with you late after school and walk with you – they probably won't do anything if you're not alone."

"Allie, you sure? They might just start it with you," I shook my head.

"_There're bigger, scarier things than Chris and his little group of idiots."_

Allie may have been right, but those bigger and scarier things seldom bothered with school girls. It happened fast, at least. We stayed after school until the cleaners literally demanded that we leave so we did, making our way slowly out of the school to see nobody. I sighed in relief, but didn't let go of my fears yet. There was still a walk to the metro station, after all.

When we got there to see nobody hanging around, I truly let go of my worries. Maybe they were actually all talk? Maybe Beppe had frightened them too much for them to _actually do something. _

"See, they're full of shit," Allie grinned "Anyways, my mum's picking me up 'round the corner, so I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Sure thing," I smiled with a nod as she turned and left, her short black hair staying comically still whilst her long fringe bounced as she walked.

With a sigh of relief I turned and made my way to the ticket machine, reaching into my pocket to get my change when I felt a pair of hands grab me by the tops of my arms and wrench me away, spinning me round to face Chris and two of his friends. Shit.

It was over in seconds – not like the movies. There wasn't a long speech or a bunch of taunting and then ten minutes straight of punching and kicking, no. He brought his fist up in a right hook, bringing it sharply across my face and then didn't hesitate to yank my head down, just as he brought his knee up.

I hissed as his friend let go of me, stumbling to stay upright at the shock of it all.

"We were losing interest in you, Monica," he laughed "But you had to go and grass us up. See you tomorrow."

I froze at the words "See you tomorrow."

That was when I made my decision.

**A/N: Also, if any of you have Tumblr my url is Skiffle- (just because links tend not to work on here), I'll post stuff relating to the story & if chapters are going to be late etc. etc.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm sorry, but I think I've confused some of you about where they are etc. so, this is a brief account of Monica's family history. Her dad is from Italy, her mum is English. Her mum went to Italy where she met her dad, they then both moved back to England and had Monica and Beppe (years apart, obviously), they then divorced but since Monica would still have to see her mother at regular intervals due to custody stuff and her dad didn't want to tear her and Beppe away from their lives, her dad stayed in England instead of going back to Italy, but they do visit there occasionally, which is how Monica and Beppe know a little bit of Italian. So, the story is set in England. **

I didn't bother buying a ticket after that – there was nobody hanging around to make sure I didn't. I sighed and slipped through the barrier, cradling my bleeding lip in my fingertips. If there was one thing Chris was good at, it was being violent, and judging by the throbbing sensation throughout the left side of my face and the blood pouring from my lip, he was very good.

I sat around the station for about twenty minutes, ignoring two metros that went past, before I saw who I wanted to see. Larten Crepsley with more flyers in hand, looking less than happy.

"You are bleeding," he muttered before looking in my direction.

"I need to talk to you," I said simply, wincing as my mouth made it painful to talk.

He was taken-aback at that, regarding me carefully before making his way to where I was standing.

"Yes?"

"I want to join the Cirque."

He froze before the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in an amused manner.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"It's not funny," I snapped, moving my hand from my mouth so he could see it "This is what's going to happen to me every single day unless I get out."

Some of the amusement in his eyes vanished as her frowned.

"You are too young," he said simply.

"You don't know how old I am."

"I know you are too young."

"Please, Mr Crepsley," I resorted to begging, pointing to my lip "This isn't even half of it and unless I do this...well, there are _other _ways of getting out, that I'm really not going to be above much longer."

"Do not be ridiculous," he almost snapped.

"I'm not being ridiculous. This is going to happen to me every single day on top with everything else they do. Then I'll be going home and either arguing with my mum or watching my dad fall even further into financial ruin. I can't handle it."

He glanced at his fingertips briefly before talking again.

"There must be something you could do to sort this out. Other than running or ending your own life, of course."

"The school can't do shit, if my brother does anything he'll get arrested and none of them can get arrested considering they're all either related to, or friends with somebody related to police. I'm stuck."

"You are considering long term solutions for short term problems."

"Yeah, because this," I gestured to my lip "is a short term problem. Getting jumped or spat on every single day until I graduate sixth form what, three years from now? Having a horrible relationship with my mum is a short term problem, and of course, so is the fact that we literally have no money, I mean, I'm sure my dad'll win the lottery tonight or something."

Confusion flickered in his eyes for a moment. I winced, my lip stinging in revenge for my short tirade. He sighed and a thoughtful expression passed across his face.

"You would need a guardian."

"Why not you? I'm not the type to cause or get into trouble – it'd be as though I wasn't there!"

"Is it not as simple at that," the orange haired man sighed, rubbing the scar on his face.

"Why not?" I frowned "What's so complicated?"

"You do not understand, do you?" he sighed "You would be leaving behind your family...your friends."

"Right now I'm just a nuisance to them," I frowned "My dad'll be better off without another kid to support, anyways...Plus, I figured if I join the Cirque and end up getting wages for working there, despite how small they could be, I could always mail my family money - they wouldn't have to know where I was."

He sighed again.

"It would not quite work like that, I am afraid."

I frowned.

"Look, Mr Crepsley, I know I'm asking a lot, but if I don't get out of here soon...I have to..."

At my words he frowned again, scratching the scar before sighing.

"Do you live nearby?"

"It's like a fifteen minute walk," I replied, confused.

"Walk home, I shall accompany you, I have a proposition that you may either hate...or you may be interested in."

"Thank you...So, so much," I breathed, practically forgetting about the pain in my face.

He nodded wordlessly and we left the metro station and walked into the night. He seemed to be deep in thought for a few moments before he finally spoke.

"I have a way you can leave this place, nobody will know anything..."

"And what is this way?" I asked, beginning to get frustrated at how mysterious he was beginning to be.

"You would be my assistant."

"What, like on stage?" I frowned "I haven't really got much stage presence."

He seemed to find that funny as he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slowly before speaking again.

"Not quite...Are you interested in legends? Fictional creatures and the like?"

"Depends on the creature, but what's this got to do anything? Are you just messing around with me? I'm being serious..." I frowned at the thought that he wasn't taking me serious.

"No, not at all," he shook his head "I know how serious you are. I am about to tell you something that you probably will not believe, but I give you my word that I speak no lie."

"...Go on," I frowned.

"I am, what you might like to call...A vampire."

I growled in annoyance. He really was messing about with me.

"Look, I know it was a far stretch that you'd let me join and you think I'm just being some kind of dramatic teenager, but you didn't have to be such an arse about it," I snapped, glaring at him before picking up my speed to get away from him, only to give a loud shreik when I walked right into him.

How had he...? He had been a good few feet behind me just a few seconds before.

"I told you. I speak no lie," he stated simply, one eyebrow raised as he surveyed my reaction that was one of pure shock.

"So...you're...a..."

"Vampire, creature of the night, blood sucker and whatever other name we're referred to as. Yes, I am."

"And you want me to...?"

"Be my assistant," he sighed, looking slightly regretful "It would involve you being blooded - you would still be able to walk in sun light for now. You would travel with me at all times, guard me during the daylight hours and cook for me, in return I would teach you about our ways."

I stared at his bright red cloak in shock. He was serious. Totally, utterly serious. I mean, I'd never totally dismissed the idea of creatures other than humans wandering around the Earth - but to actually meet one? To be asked to become one?

"...What would happen if I agreed to this? How do you know I won't run off and tell somebody I met a real life vampire?" I asked with a frown after a few moments.

"I would blood you now - simply to know that you would keep up your end of this deal. Then we would probably fake your death,,," he said slowly "and as for the idea of you telling somebody - I would be miles away before anything could even be thought of to do against me."

"Fake my death?" I practically choked "Why not just...disappear? If you can be miles away so fast."

"It would be complicated. For months people would be looking for you - a missing teenage girl is rarely taken lightly in these times. If you were spotted anywhere, havoc could break loose."

"...So I'd never be able to see my friends or family again."

"I warned you that this was not a decision to be taken lightly," he replied, but his voice was not without sympathy.

"I know but...God..." I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

"The choice is yours," he said slowly "I will not force you to agree to this, you are free to say no, but once your decision is made, you can not go back, Do you wish to travel and see things most humans will never even dream of, but never see your friends or family again, or do you wish to stay here and live a totally mortal...yet respectable," he added pointedly "Life, but deal with those sad excuses for human beings day in and day out."

I bit my lip but immediately regretted the decision when pain flared up in it. The offer...it was truly extraordinary and I wouldn't have this chance again in my life, as he had said, but to never see my friends and family again...I sighed, running a hand through my hair. The decision was a tough one - probably the toughest I'd ever have to make in my life...But what to choose. I sighed, playing out each scenario in my head.

If I said no, I would go home, watch a film, do homework and go to bed. I would then return to school the next day...I'd get stuff thrown at me, snide comments hissed in my direction...Footballs aimed at my head at lunch time...and beaten up on the way home. Then I'd either go to my mum's and argue with her or go back to my dad's, watching him struggle with the bills or watching my brother seduce whatever giggling idiot he'd found in the town that day.

If I said yes...Soon I'd be miles away from this godforsaken city, seeing things that most people didn't know existed...and I'd be a vampire. Written down, it seems like a no-brainer, but the thought of never joking around with Beppe again or having a sleepover with Allie, Bianca and Frasier...

But then the scowling face of Chris popped into my head. The thought of Beppe getting in trouble for what he'd end up doing to him if he found out about my injuries. I cringed.

"...I'll...I'll do it," I spoke finally, staring at the ground as I did.

He nodded.

"Your family and friends...do they know your unhappiness?"

"Probably, yeah," I nodded "But why?"

"Well, then, it is decided. We will fake your suicide."

"No. We can't do that! They'll blame themselves! They'll...they'll hate me."

"We must, it would be more believable," he sighed "No matter how it goes, your death will upset them, best make it believable."

I gave a small nod, blinking back tears.

He looked around briefly before spotting an alley way between the city library and swimming pool, making his way over to it, he gestured for me to follow.

"I must blood you now, but I warn you, it will be painful. Very painful."

I nodded slowly, feeling apprehension well up in the pit of my stomach.

"So...uh...how's it done?"

"I must test your, blood first, give me your arm."

I did so with a small frown. He made a small, not very painful cut in my forearm and attached his lips to it, sucking some of the blood out of it that felt...bizarre to say the least. Once he was done, he stood for a moment, as if tasting the blood, before swallowing and nodding.

"Give me your hands," he said simply.

I did so with a frown, expecting there to be some level of neck-biting and fang-growing involved. He promptly seized my fingers and began cutting one, very deep and very painful cut into each fingertip with his fingernails. I hissed in pain, going to pull my hand back from him but he shook his head, just tightening his grip as he did the same to the other the hand.

With a small wince he then did the same to himself before joining our fingertips. The effect was almost immediate, and "very painful" wasn't exactly the phrase I'd use to describe it. I went to pull my hands back but he simply shook his head.

"Do not break the contact! My blood must flow into you!" he commanded with a hiss of pain of his own as I clenched my teeth but obeyed.

Eventually he pulled his hands back and I breathed a sigh of relief, muttering every Italian curse word in my vocabulary under my breath. Much to my annoyance, he seized hold of my hands again and I was expecting more pain but much to my surprise he licked each fingertip.

"Vampire spit has healing properties," he explained briefly, his lips twitching upwards at my expression before rubbing spit into the small cut on my arm.

"...So am I a vampire now?" I frowned.

"No, only half," he shook his head "You will be able to stand sunlight as normal and you will not need as much blood as a full grown vampire. You will find yourself getting stronger and faster, be very careful."

We continued walking to my mum's.

"You will soon crave blood, possibly as early as tomorrow evening, if you do, drink this," he said, reaching into his jacket and producing a vial of red liquid which was obviously blood "if you do not, you may end up injuring somebody. Tomorrow will be your first full day among your family and friends. I will approach you two nights from now. I suggest you, ah...write a note."

At the thought of writing my own suicide note, I winced. Soon we were at the block of flats.

"Which one is your bedroom?" he asked, gesturing up to the many windows.

"Very bottom left hand corner," I said, pointing towards the ground-level window.

He nodded and I unlocked the front gate. I turned around to speak, but he had gone. I sighed, entering the building and making my way across the courtyard of sorts before finally reaching the door. I found it, once again, open and I walked in, feeling a bit ill. I'd just practically signed my life away...and there really was no going back.

I felt regretful, but strangely peaceful and relieved. I really hadn't been lying to Mr Crepsley - I doubted I would have been able to survive had he refused. I sighed, making my way into the living room, dreading my mum's reaction once she saw my face.

**A/N: I've been trying to reply to the reviews but when I'm at my mum's it doesn't even let me on which is why there's been a lack of updates recently, which has also been due to my personal life becoming very, very confusing lately, as it does when you're a teenage girl. **


	6. Chapter 6

My mum went beserk when she saw my face. I wandered into the living room, keeping my head down as I put my bag on the couch and shrugged my jacket off.

"You're awfully quiet," she commented.

I gave a small nod, keeping my head down and leaving the living room to go to my bedroom, thinking I'd gotten away with it. That was, until two hours later when she walked into my bedroom. By then I'd washed the dried blood off of my mouth and iced it, it still hurt but it looked a bit better, but by then bruises had started to form on my face from the punch. But regardless, I'd grown used to the dull pain so when she walked in, I didn't think to cover my face. I realised my mistake immediately when she gasped.

"Jesus Christ, Monica! Who did this?"

I shook my head slightly "It doesn't matter."

"Well it obviously does! You shouldn't let them do this!"

"Oh yeah, because I gave him my permission before he kneed me in the face," I almost snorted.

"You know what I mean! Do you want me to go to the school?"

"No, Ma! It's fine, it's over with."

"Have you seen your face?"

"Many times," I retorted, sarcasm evident in my tone.

This was my last night with her and I was being mean.

"...Can I have the day off tomorrow?" I asked slowly after a few moments of silence whilst she stared at my face.

"Monica," she groaned "If you have too many days off I'm going to end up in trouble."

"...Please, mum..." I said - despising the idea of my last day among friends being at school.

"I'm sorry, Monica, but no. You have to go in," she shook her head.

"They did this to me!" I said, pointing to my lip.

"Yeah, but you won't do anything about it, what're you going to do - stay off forever?"

I sighed and didn't respond as she turned around and left. Great. Well, at least I wouldn't need any help acting down enough for my "suicide" to seem realistic. I pulled my old, beat up mobile out of my pocket and dialed Allie's number. She picked up after a few rings.

"Evening, Monny," she greeted me.

"Don't call me that," I groaned.

"Fine, fine," she said, her tone still pleasant "Any reason your calling?"

"...Chris got me," I sighed into the phone.

"What? How? Are you okay?"

"He waited until you left, and no...I'm not too great..."

"...Wanna talk about it? If you don't just...I dunno, tell me to piss off or something."

"Thanks but...I'll deal with this by myself."

"That's not healthy, Monica," she sighed disapprovingly.

"I know, I know," I said quietly "I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to meet up in the morning to walk to school? I'd rather not face the journey alone."

"Of course I will, it eight okay?"

"Yeah, I'll see you then," I said slowly, hanging up.

It hadn't been a good idea. Knowing she was concerned about me just worsened the guilt as I wondered how they'd all react...It had always been a thing I'd wondered vaguely - how people would react when I died, but now that I was going to know, I dreaded it. I tapped drummed my newly scarred fingertips against my knee before reaching into my bed-side table for a few sheets of lined paper and a pen.

"Time to get this over with," I mumbled to myself, scrawling the word "DAD" onto the top of the paper before I began the letter.

It took me hours as I wrote each individual person a letter. I tried to lie as little as I could - never once using the phrase "suicide" and instead words like "left". I owed them an honest explanation at the very least. The last and the hardest letter to write was the one to Beppe. That night I went to bed with sore, raw eyes and an aching chest from sobbing so much, and what made it worse was the fact that soon a lot of the people I knew would be doing the same and it would be my fault.

I woke up the next morning feeling ill and slightly regretful as I stared up at the cracks in my ceiling...Something felt off...but what? Then I realised. I could actually see the cracks in my ceiling. Normally I couldn't unless I wore my glasses...Could the vampire blood be effecting me already?

Today would be my last day with my friends and my family. I felt guilty - guiltier than I'd ever felt before, infact, but as much as I tormented myself, telling myself "you could've stuck it out", I knew it wasn't true and that if things had continued on the way they were, whether I liked it or not, I would've ended up writing those letters at some point, the only difference being that they'd be genuine.

I felt even guiltier when Allie buzzed at the front gate and when I saw her, she was clutching a package to her chest, wrapped in a polythene bag.

"What's that?" I frowned.

"I got you it on the way here!" she smiled, thrusting it towards me.

I gave a small smile, taking it from her and taking it out of the bag. I sighed. It was a new bag, black with intricate purple designs covering it.

"Oh, Allie," I sighed "You really shouldn't have!"

"I have too much spare money," she waved a hand "Plus the school would've just given you money for a crap one that'd break in a week. Anyways, think of it as a get well soon present - your face looks even worse than usual!"

She grinned cheekily as she said the last part, nudging me. I laughed, ignoring the warning, stretched feeling my lip gave when I did. This was going to be much harder than I thought. It didn't take long to get to school as we went back the way I'd walked with Mr Crepsley the previous night, and I couldn't help but look into the alley where I'd been blooded with a small frown.

I was torn. Well and truly. I knew if I'd turned him down, I'd be walking this same way to school, but instead regretting turning down the offer. No matter what I'd chosen, I'd end up regretting something, and despite the fact that I'd be leaving everything behind, I was excited and curious about what was in store for me.

I felt a strangely sad feeling come over me once Allie and I were sitting with Bianca and Frasier before school ended. Not because I'd miss school - no, but because I'd miss them and being around them.

"What's got you so upset? Missing Spiderman?" Frasier grinned jokingly.

"Spiderman?" I asked with a laugh.

"Easier than remembering the name," she waved a hand "The dude from the freak show."

"Mr Crepsley," I muttered.

"Yeah, him. Doesn't it sound like he should own some kind of pancake shop? Crepsley's Crepes!" she grinned and I couldn't help but snort with laughter, wondering what my soon-to-be guardian would think of that.

"I s'pose it's a bit of a step down from performing in a Freak Show," I laughed before changing the subject "Hey, it's Friday, right?"

"No, it's Sunday," Bianca replied with a small smile.

"Fuck, I should be at church," I drawled in response before laughing "You guys want to sleep over at mine tonight? We could...I dunno, camp out in the living room."

I didn't really want company that badly that night, knowing my mind would be occupied, but I didn't want to spend my last night of being able to see them, alone. Art was first lesson. We were painting again which was probably a bad thing considering I became stupidly paranoid about keeping an eye on my possessions. I ended up sitting between Allie and Bianca - Frasier wasn't in that class.

"So, what shall be our entertainment tonight?" Allie asked.

"Giuseppe!" Bianca grinned stupidly.

"No!" I groaned, drawing out the word "He's my brother, guys."

"Well he's not mine!" she shot back with a cheeky grin and a laugh.

"Yeah but he is twenty three and you're fifteen!"

"Pfft, legalities," she waved her paint brush around, splattering me with the black.

I let out a surprised squeak before eyeing the black splodges. I dipped my brush into the red before leaving a long, crimson streak down her arm. We did that back and forth for just a few moments before we heard the rather unamused voice of the teacher.

"Girls! Stop that immediately!" she shrieked towards our backs and I had to stifle a few giggles as Bianca made funny faces, mouthing the teachers own words as I got up to try and scrub the mess from my arms.

Bianca soon joined me, trying to clean her own arms.

"It looks like you've been stabbing me," she grinned before it faded as she watched my scrubbing at my arms.

"What?" I raised an eyebrow - Bianca was never one to be silent.

"Your fingers," she said, grabbing my hands, forcing me to drop the paper towel.

I wrenched my arm back, surprised by the amount of force that seemed to be behind it even though to me, I hadn't pulled that hard. Bianca struggled to keep her balance.

"...Jesus! Calm down!" she muttered, a surprised expression covering her features "How the hell'd you manage that?"

"I've had them ever since I was like 5," I waved a hand dismissively "I can't believe you've never noticed them before!"

Seeming a tad sceptical, but sensing that I didn't want to talk about it, she dropped the subject, although I caught her staring at them a few more times throughout the day, causing me to try and hide them as much as I could without getting ridiculous.

The day passed far quicker than I would have liked it to. After school, since I had three others with me, Chris chose just to jeer from across the street. I ignored it, keeping my eyes on the pavement in front of me and telling myself I'd be away soon enough, and as sick as it sounded, I hoped he'd feel guilty after my "suicide".

Since it was only just vaguely starting to get a bit darker, Mr Crepsley wasn't there – I didn't know if he'd be there, even if it was dark, but I was strangely pleased that I'd escape Frasier pushing me towards him and trying to get his attention – I'd have to live with him for years, and as childish as I was being, with him not there I could pretend that everything was normal, but even then, that offered little comfort.

"Ugh, this is so hard," Frasier complained, staring at her maths homework.

"That's what she said," Bianca snorted.

"Who is "she" and why does she say so much?" Allie frowned, causing all three of us to stop whatever we were doing and snort with laughter.

I sighed and leant back against the foot of my bed. I felt tired and I didn't really know why.

"Hey, Monica?" Frasier snapped me out of my thoughts with a frown.

"Huh?" I asked, looked at her.

"Why aren't you wearing your glasses?"

"Oh, I, uh, I guess I don't need them as much as I think," I shrugged, looking back down to my chemistry homework, not really knowing why I was bothering with it considering I'd never be at school again - a thought that made me happy.

That was when I heard the front door open and I froze. Beppe. He hadn't seen my face yet. I clenched my fists and directed my gaze to the floor as I heard my door open.

"Ladies," he greeted boredly "Monica, was school good?"

He sounded smug. I sighed and looked up to meet his happy gaze which quickly turned furious.

"Did, uh, Ian's brother do that?" he asked.

I bit my lip and quickly regretted it as pain shot through it.

"Right," he said, turning around.

I shot up and darted after him with speed that surprised everybody - me especially.

"Beppe, no!" I exclaimed grabbing his arm.

"I need to teach that kid a lesson!"

"Yeah, look how well it went last time, Beppe," I sighed, looking at the boring cream carpet under my bare feet.

His eyes softened and he frowned.

"Just...leave it, yeah? Nothing we can do now..."

"I could beat his ass to a pulp!"

"And be jailed."

"Oh, so you're just gonna accept this...this bullshit?"

I gave a small head shake.

"No, I'm, uh, dealing with it," I said slowly, picking at a loose thread on my trousers.

"How?" Beppe frowned almost immediately.

"By not beating the crap out of them – an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, right?" I evaded the question.

"I'm meeting you after school on Monday," he stated simply, clearly unsatisfied with my answer.

I didn't respond – I wouldn't be around on Monday and I didn't want to argue with anybody. I sighed, gave a small nod and he reverted back to his playful demeanour, giving all of my friends a small, goofy smile and leaving the room.

"and how exactly are you dealing with them?" Bianca asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow.

"Just let him beat them up!" Frasier sighed exasperatedly "They deserve it!"

I shook my head, doing my best to suppress a sigh. My last night with my family and friends and I couldn't even try to forget it.

**A/N: I'm not going to lie and pretend I'm happy with this chapter, I'm really not. Lately I've been reading a lot of Game of Thrones, Tolkien and the likes and I feel it's really improved my writing style. This update has been sitting around for weeks, I just re-read it and...yeah. I'm not happy with it, but you guys deserve **_**something**_**. Sorry for the wait, coursework, exams and a lot of personal drama got in the way. Also, my tumblr url is braddouriflivesinmywall if any of you want to follow me :) **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you all for the awesome reviews, they really keep me going. I appreciate them all but (at the risk of sounding sappy) I'd like to thank Drakewood a lot, the review I received from her was so amazing, it brought me close to tears. To know that my writing (and I really still consider myself to be a beginner though I've been writing for 6 years, haha) can affect somebody like that was just amazing and to know that I've inspired somebody else to draw and write has pretty much just made my entire...life. xD So really, thank you so, so much. Also, I'm sorry for my fondness of long absences, blame the fact that I'm easily stressed so I tend to procrastinate with things that aren't coursework.**

Mr Crepsley showed up at my window about an hour after the sun set the next night.

"Are you ready?" was his simple greeting.

_Was I ready_? In different circumstances I might have laughed at such a ridiculous question, but at that point, all I could do was nod shakily and clutch the letters to my family and friends to my chest.

"So, uh, how are we going to go about this?" I asked unsurely.

He held up two things. A bottle of sleeping pills and a little glass vial of unfamiliar liquid.

"It is to my understanding that too many of these," he shook the pills "Can kill a human - but not a vampire and certainly not a half vampire either. So you shall take a humanly dangerous amount and then drink this," he held up the vial "Which will, to put it simply, make you appear lifeless."

"What if they decide to do an autopsy?" I frowned.

"That is what we must hope against," he said slowly "But nobody likes to unnecessarily cut open a teenage girl - if I put the bottle in your hand once they take effect, they won't feel the need to. The worst they could do is blood tests, and I would take care of that."

His explanation was simple, but his eyes did hold emotion - sympathy, which grew when he saw how I was fighting back tears.

"I...suggest you say your goodbyes if you have not," he said slowly before his attention was drawn to the black and purple bag on my bed "You wish to take this with you?"

I'd spent the day wandering around my room, collecting small reminders of my home – things that they wouldn't notice were missing. I'd also stuffed all of my money into a small purse and put that in there too.

I nodded "It's just a sketch pad and stuff...that's okay, right?"

He nodded in confirmation and I slowly rose, straightening my skinny jeans before leaving the room and making my way to Beppe's. I had already said my goodbyes to my dad, my mum and my friends, without making it obvious, of course, but I was dreading saying goodbye to my brother and had put it off until the last possible moment.

I slid open the door to see him lying back on his bed with one headphone in.

"Beppe?" I said slowly, my voice sounding higher than I would've liked.

He jumped slightly before looking at me and taking the headphone out.

"Christ, Monica, you scared me!" he laughed "What is it?"

"I, uh, I'm gonna have an early night so I thought I'd say good night," I murmured.

"It's barely eight," he laughed.

"I'm just tired with...everything," it wasn't a total lie.

"Don't let those bastards get you down, " he said, pulling me towards him "I'll take care of them tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know," I said with a small nod, hugging him "Thank you, Beppe...You're an amazing big brother. I love you."

"Aww! Is my _sorellina_ being sentimental?" he grinned jokingly "Ti amo troppo, now go to bed before I either tear up or vomit."

I gave a small laugh and nodded before leaving the room, only allowing the tears to fall once the door was shut behind me in my room, giving a small amount of relief to my now burning eyes. I wiped them, glad that Mr Crepsley didn't acknowledge them.

"Did you...ask to be buried?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yeah, the last thing I need is to be burnt alive."

He nodded and handed me the pills.

"You should probably wake up tomorrow morning - you won't be able to move or speak but you'll be able to hear and feel a few sensations, in a few days you may regain a small amount of movement - a twitch at most, then you will notice a stiffness in your limbs from lack of movement. I will dig you up the night you are buried."

I nodded and began taking the pills. Once I'd taken what he deemed to be an acceptable amount, he handed me the vial which I downed in one gulp, grimacing at the horrible taste.

The effect was almost immediate - I seized up and wasn't able to move or feel much. He closed my eyes and laid me down on the bed before placing the pill bottle in my right hand and the letters in my left. Then he left and soon I couldn't avoid falling asleep, wishing I'd be able to sleep until he dug me up, knowing the guilt I was about to feel would be even more unbearable.

The next thing I knew, I heard my dad's voice.

"Monica? It's eleven! Why aren't you up yet?"

I felt myself being shaken.

"Why did you sleep in your clothes, strange girl...Monica...Monica?"

I felt a touch to my shoulder and then a horrible, horrible silence and then one word.

"Giuseppe!"

I heard quick thudding footsteps to my bedroom door.

"What is it?" I heard Beppe's tired voice reach my ears and then that silence once again.

"No. **No**! She...she _didn't_! She couldn't have...Monica!"

"She...she..." I heard my dad try to say before I felt the pills being taken from my limp grasp.

There was a string of curses before the letters were taken from my hands.

"...It's my fault. I should've been a better brother," the words were spat through sobs.

I felt sick when I realised one thing...They'd blame themselves.

I'd often heard people lightly mention about how they'd wondered how people would react when they died - how they wanted to know. They were stupid. You don't want to know unless you're mentally ill. You don't want to hear your dad screaming down the phone for an ambulance - your brother sobbing hysterically as he tries to wake you up, even though he knows it's futile... as he continues to sob and hugs you to him. You don't want to hear your mother arrive and start screaming for you to wake up. You don't want to hear them blaming themselves. Or worse – eachother.

I deserved it. I deserved hearing all of my loved ones sob and blame themselves. I deserved having to sit through the open-casket funeral...I was a horrible, selfish person. That was why I deserved feeling my mother run a hand over my face for the last time as her tears hit my cheeks...I deserved to hear my brother say he should've done more...I deserved to hear my crush of two years admit, right next to my ear about how he was sorry he hadn't told me he liked me.

I deserved every single little unbearable stabbing feeling to my heart that I got every time I heard a whimper, a sob, an admittance of self blame. What on earth had I done? All of these people...My friends...My family...they were suffering because I couldn't ignore a few bullies. I disgusted myself.

I tried to sleep as much as I could in the passing days, hoping it would hurt less if I couldn't hear any of it, but it's impossible to sleep for days on end when your mind's racing like that, and I was greatly thankful when all I could hear after that was the thudding of dirt filling the grave.

I tried to do anything to distract myself from my thoughts. I sang to myself in my head, I made up stories and I even tried to sleep some more, but nothing worked for very long. My chest felt so heavy with guilt it made me feel sick as I had just begun to come to terms with the fact that I had genuinely given everything up for something I knew very little about. I moved my arms as much as I could manage, trying to relieve the dull ache they were giving off, along with my legs.

After what I could only assume were hours, I began to wonder. Was he just going to leave me here to die? Surely it should be nightfall by now...maybe he just wanted a way to get me off of his back...maybe he regretted blooding me but didn't want me to tell people about him being a vampire so was going to leave me here. After all, there was no way for me to escape the coffin. Vampire strength or not, clawing my way through 6 feet of dirt without suffocating didn't seem likely.

It was only when I heard the dirt moving above me some time later that I realised how paranoid I was being. Of course he wouldn't just leave me to die – he had said he wanted an assistant...hadn't he? Well, either way, now he had one. Then, for the first time, guilt was replaced with anxiety. I'd only been focusing on leaving my old life...how would I deal with getting a new one?

I didn't have much time to dwell on it, though, as the lid of the coffin was wrenched open and the cold night air filled my lungs. I welcomed it, not noticing how stuffy it had gotten in the coffin. I took the hand he offered and stood up, too aware of how little room there was in the grave.

"Say your goodbyes to the city, I will fill in the grave," he sounded slightly awkward.

"...Should I help?"

He did say I was his assistant, after all.

"No, you would only slow me down."

I raised an eyebrow but didn't argue as I climbed out into the open. As I got out, however, I noticed I was standing right next to another, very familiar grave.

"Oh, god..." I murmured, kneeling in front of the black marble stone despite my legs protesting.

They'd buried me next to my grandma. I ran a finger over the indented golden numbers on the stone, stating her birth date and death date, before placing my forehead on the cold, hard surface.

"I'm sorry, grandma," I murmured to it "I'm sorry I'm not brave like you always told me to be...I tried..."

All there was, was silence and I sighed, leaning back, wondering what I had expected. I stood up, wincing as my legs clicked, which caused me to look down and notice my outfit.

I wasn't sure what I had expected to be buried in, but it wasn't that. It was a black knee-length dress, which I supposed could be described as stylish. I had also been dressed in (now grass-stained) skin coloured tights and black strappy high heels, which I knew would soon become a burden. But it wasn't that which shocked me. It was the ring on my right middle finger. It was a simple gold band with one pearl directly in the centre of it. It had belonged to my grandma – my dad's mother, not the one I was earlier next to in the ground.

It was tradition for it to be passed down in the family, but I had expected for my dad to give it to one of my cousins – or even to Beppe to give to his future children...I never expected them to end the tradition by burying me with it.

I reached a hand up to run it through my hair but realised I couldn't – it had all been pulled back from my face in some kind of sophisticated up-do. With a sigh I pulled it apart, wondering why they had buried me in clothes and hairstyles that I would never wear.

I picked up my bag which was leaning against my headstone and bit my lip when I noticed all of the flowers on it. I knew they would have all been from my family, not a miraculous sea of new friends, but that's what made it more sentimental. There was a photo of myself near the top of the stone too – Beppe and I, to be exact. That was when I couldn't stand there any longer.

I made my way over to a bench and sat on it with my bag beside me, knowing it wouldn't be long until Mr Crepsley was done.

I leaned my head back, staring up at the dark grey clouds and blinking back tears. It was going to be a long night.

A/N: Sorry if it was too sappy, I might have gotten carried away.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: There's really no excuse for me to be such a rubbish updater. My life has become genuinely complicated – more than exams and schoolwork and I've had a lot of writer's block, I've found a way to fight it though and I've got a lot more inspiration for this. I'm not going to promise more frequent updates because you know by now how often I promise more frequent updates and never give them, but I really am trying. **

Humans confused Larten. Well, more specifically, teenage human girls confused him. If he wanted to be precise, Monica Mastrelli confused him.

When she had approached him, asking to join the Cirque, he had assumed her to be bold, stubborn and perhaps even cocky. He even vaguely expected her to roll her eyes at his teachings about vampire life, so he was shocked at her attitude for the week after he had dug her up.

The first night was unsurprising, she had sobbed and he had left her to it with an awkward pat on the shoulder, deciding to leave her to her thoughts and grieving rather than try to comfort her and upset her more – it was something a lot of vampires went through. True, not many were quite as young as her – or female, but in the clan men and women were treated the same, it would not to do baby her. After all, Seba had not wrapped him in bubble wrap, but he doubted he could bring himself to punish the small girl the way his mentor had punished him as a cub.

What had shocked Larten was the girl's silence. It was not a fearful silence, an angry one or even a stubborn one...he didn't _quite _know what kind of silence it was. Perhaps a sad one? Either way, it surprised him. She never seemed to speak unnecessarily; she answered his questions softly, listened to him silently and only seemed to ask things that she needed to know. She didn't even complain about feeding – though she had paled and wretched afterwards.

Her face was usually stoic; the only emotion he noticed from her was slight interest or confusion during the "lessons" or her quiet sniffling when she thought he was sleeping. Usually when she wasn't doing her "duty" as an assistant, she had her nose buried in a book from her bag or she was drawing in the corner.

At first he had taken it as a silent resentment towards him, which he countered with slight annoyance, after that, it confused him and finally he decided to leave her to it. If she wanted to speak, she would, he wasn't going to complain about her obedience, he had expected to be dealing with a rowdy cub, so in a way, he was grateful.

**~ Monica ~**

I picked at the small hole, already forming in my new jeans. Within two nights I'd managed to stumble in the heels countless times and ladder the tights, so whilst Mr Crepsley was sleeping one day, I went out and bought some jeans along with a baggy black t-shirt and some boots. I still kept the ring on.

I wasn't sure what to make of my "new life". It was very, very different to my old one, that much was obvious. In my lessons with Mr Crepsley, I'd learnt that strength and physical triumphs were practically the core of what vampires were about and that things such as reading, writing, music and art weren't cared for. This disappointed me – I was the least sporty person I knew, the only sports I'd ever really enjoyed were running and swimming and I was far from strong.

One thing I found easy about my new life was the cooking. It was strange not having a cooker, but I adapted and was happy that I had at least one part of it down. I just didn't know if I could handle how harsh the lifestyle was. They fought with _bears _to prove their strength, for Christ's sake! But I bit my tongue, not sure if he was easily angered or not.

For the first week or so, it was mainly silence unless I was being taught, asking questions or being asked to do something.

_I _wasn't even sure why I was being silent, to be totally honest. At first I was upset, so I was grateful that my mentor left me alone for the first night. I was still sad, of course. Devastated, even, but that wasn't why I wasn't talking. I just felt as though there was nothing to say. Like, if it wasn't necessary then it wasn't worth it. I don't know, perhaps I was wary of my teacher – shy? I just felt dull.

Since the original deal had been for me to join the Cirque, that was our destination, but Mr Crepsley had to mentally "locate" it first (I'd never quite understood how that worked). It didn't take too long, and with Mr Crepsley's ability to flit, we'd be there within days.

I was nervous though – very nervous. What if they didn't like me? What if there weren't any jobs for me? What if I couldn't do my job well enough? Would they kick me out? Would it get Mr Crepsley in trouble? All of these questions raced through my mind almost constantly to the point where I was a nervous wreck walking up to the site where Mr Crepsley said the camp was. I felt ill and I stared at my boots as I walked.

"Monica?" I was snapped out of my thoughts, making me jump.

"Oh, what, yeah, sorry," I mumbled quickly, avoiding his gaze.

"What is wrong?" he spoke slowly, stopping in his tracks.

"Nothing! No, I, erm, just zoned out, sorry," I stumbled over half of my words, still staring at my boots.

He stayed completely still and I glanced up and then away again, he was watching me carefully – analytically. It was like that for a few more moments before he spoke again.

"A cruel word will never be spoken to, or about you, at the Cirque, Monica. Everybody is welcome."

It was obvious he felt awkward saying it, but his tone was sincere. The words brought me a small amount of comfort, but did nothing to help my nerves. I nodded and thanked him quietly, anyways and we continued on our way. By the time the tents and trailers came into view, I felt sick. I trailed behind him, focusing on my breathing and trying to stop myself gasping for air. Thankfully, I managed to compose myself before we got to our destination – Mr Tall's trailer.

The meeting was surprisingly brief, with no doubts about whether I could join The Cirque – the fact that I was Mr Crepsley's assistant seemed to make it a no-brainer. The main question was what jobs I could do and where I would sleep. Mr Crepsley made it clear that I was welcome to stay in his van but suggested that I'd be more comfortable with a woman.

"Perhaps Truska," Mr Tall suggested.

"I'd hate to, erm, impose on anybody," I said quietly, biting my lip "she wouldn't mind, would she?"

"Truska has a maternal instinct," Mr Tall explained briefly "I highly doubt she'd mind at all."

Then it was the decision of what job I would do.

"Can you cook?"

"Erm, yeah," I gave a small nod.

"For a lot of people?"

"Like…ten?"

"One or two hundred."

"No, sorry…"

"Can you mend clothes?"

"I can sew, yeah."

"Excellent, Truska could teach you the fundamentals of mending!"

And with that it was decided. Mr Crepsley left to go to his coffin – the sun was about to rise, whilst Mr Tall led me across the camp to where Truska stayed, saying he'd have to explain it to her himself. I soon realized why as I watched him and the (currently beardless) bearded lady barking at eachother for a few minutes. All I could do was stand, nervously shifting my weight from foot to foot and hope for the best. Eventually the barking died down and I looked up from my boots to see her smiling warmly at me.

She took hold of my arm and led me into her van, jabbering excitedly in her language, grinning. I gave a small laugh, slowly finding myself becoming more comfortable in the Cirque.

A couple of weeks later, I trudged through the camp, a bag of fabrics for Truska in hand. I'd almost gotten to the van when a familiar guitar piece met my ears. I picked up my pace, quickly dropped off the bag and made my way towards where the music was coming from. I eventually found it on the outskirts of the camp.

He was 18 at most with skin which was neither dark or light, he had long, straight jet black hair. I couldn't tell how long though because of the way he was lying in the grass. I watched him quietly for a few moments before speaking up.

"That's patience."

He looked up, confused for a second before his eyes met mine and he gave a smile, putting the beat up guitar down.

"So you do talk," his tone was teasing, but far from mean.

I blushed and gave a small smile "Only sometimes."

"You're a Guns N' Roses fan, then?"

"Love them," I nodded.

Beppe had been a fanatic – constantly attempting their songs on his own guitar, he hadn't been as good as this guy, though. I shook the thoughts away, I'd only get upset. I twisted the ring that sat on my right hand.

"Well, that makes us best friends," he grinned and patted the patch of grass to his right "Sit down."

I hesitated slightly before sitting.

"Any requests?" he wriggled his eyebrows, strumming a few random chords.

"What songs do you know?"

"Challenge me," he shrugged.

"Surprise me," I responded simply.

"Oh, so you're spontaneous," he nodded.

"Oh, so you're a detective?"

"I'm a….curious observer, part time admirer," he shrugged simply.

I bit my lip, not quite knowing what to say.

"You're a vampire?"

"Half," I gestured to the sun, still burning brightly in the sky.

"Oh, stupid question," he gave a small laugh.

"It's fine," I gave a small smile, beginning to realise this was a potential friendship.

He smiled back and then began to strum out a rhythm and sang softly – I was surprised at how good he was.

The days rolled by surprisingly fast after the first meeting with the boy – Jack. The next day once I'd finished my work I took a walk and heard the guitar again, I was warmly greeted by him once more. This continued until eventually I just went there every day – even when we changed location I'd just follow the sound of the guitar.

I fell into a comfortable routine at the Cirque. I'd wake up early, work, find Jack and sit with him for hours – usually going to the centre of camp to get dinner with him, too, have a lesson with Mr Crepsley and go to bed. The routine was good but I found myself only being truly comfortable with Jack and Truska.

I wasn't sure how I was _supposed _to act around Mr Crepsley. I didn't hate him – it would be stupid to, I had wanted to join the Cirque and practically forced his hand in it – I was grateful if anything, but I found myself vaguely intimidated by the mysterious, quite attractive vampire. I did as he asked, when he asked it, but seeing as we were at the Cirque, there wasn't much for me to do.

I resolved to treat him like I'd treat a teacher at school – seeing as he was my mentor. I was strangely disappointed with the decision, but I didn't want to seem disrespectful if I was too informal.

I didn't know where I'd be without Truska through all of it. The language barrier was a small issue after a few weeks. She'd had a coffin put in her van for me and filled it with blankets and pillows, refusing to let me sleep just on the wood. She'd even made a purple nightdress for me, even though I'd insisted I'd be fine in my clothes. I felt guilty for thinking it, but she was often more motherly towards me than my own mum ever was.


End file.
